


One Year Bliss

by Annaelle



Series: Prince!Killian & Princess!Emma AU [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Labor scene, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Arranged Marriages' and 'You Know I Do'. AU Prince!Killian and Princess!Emma. ONESHOT Rated M for smut, language and explicit descriptions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Year Bliss

He’s nervous.

It is absolutely ridiculous, and he feels good and well stupid for it too, but he is.

He’s never been nervous about bedding a woman—and he _has_ bedded several willing lasses before—but not even with Milah, the woman who’d taken his virtue (and most of the gold and jewellery he had in his rooms), had he been this nervous.

Of course, none of those women had been his Emma.

None of them were his wife—his Queen—his love.

And then there was the fact that his wife was a maiden—he has never bedded a maiden before either, but from what he’s gathered, it is not a pleasant experience for women, and he loathes being the cause of any sort of pain to his lovely Emma.

He watches her as she bids her parents goodnight, his heart swelling with love once again as he takes in the sight of her beautiful, delighted smile, her lovely rosy blush and her heaving chest—he nearly chuckles; she’d been complaining about her tightly laced corset all the way through the banquet dinner and most of their first few dances.

“Hello, husband,” she grins when she reaches him, resting her hand on his arm, “Are you ready to retire for the night?”

He offers her a devilish grin and lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a long kiss to her palm—he loves the way her green eyes darken at the gesture—before replying, “Of course, my Queen.” He pretends not to notice her quivering slightly as he leads her from the ornate ballroom, wondering if he should tell her he wants to wait until they have reached their honeymoon location.

Before he can, however, they have reached their chambers, and the door is closing behind them and they’re completely alone for the first time in weeks.

He barely gets the chance to look at her before she’s all over him, her lips hot on his and her hands already pushing his jacket off his shoulders. “Emma,” he breathes, his fingers tightening their grip on her hips, “Emma, my love, slow down—I…” He shakes his head and drops his forehead against hers, sighing, “I want this, love, but I don’t want you to believe that I expect it of you—it is not a mere _prize.”_

He remembers the words she had spoken to him when asking him to be her husband, and he doesn’t want her to feel she is _obligated_ to gift him with her maidenhood.

“If you do not wish t—” She cuts him off, pressing her lips to his, her hands resting lightly on his chest.

He sighs contently, melting into her kiss after a moment of hesitation, treading his fingers through her luscious golden curls, before allowing her to break the kiss to breathe. Emma blushes prettily and breathes in deeply, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

Gods damn him, that look does things to him.

“I want this too,” she whispers softly, stroking his cheek, “I love you.”

He slides his hands down her sides, playing with the lacing on the back of her dress. “Are you certain, love? I do not wish for you to feel pressured.” His heart is beating so hard and loudly, he’s almost certain she can hear it—she tilts her head, brushing her lips over his just a tiny little bit (just enough to drive him insane with desire).

“Of course I am,” she whispers, curling her fingers in the fabric of his vest, “Kiss me again.”

He happily obliges and kisses her—his love, his Queen, his _wife_ —deeply, fully, gently tugging on the lacing at the back of her dress, loosening the ties as much as he can manage with one hand, while burying the other in her now loose curls.

“Emma,” he groans against her lips, sighing victoriously when he manages to undo the laces that holds her dress together, pushing it off her shoulders gently, revealing her undergarments.

She looks absolutely breathtaking, and when he tells her so, she curses under her breath and tells him if he likes breathtaking, he should try wearing the bloody corset himself. !He slides his fingers over her warm, soft skin, smiling briefly at her cheeky comment before taking her hand in his and leading her to their bed.

“Just,” Emma hesitates, curling her fingers around his upper arms, “Be gentle, okay? It’s… Mom said it might hurt.” He smiles tightly, still unwilling to admit to his own nerves, and nods, gently stroking her hair from her forehead. “Of course, love. Of course.”

And then his lips are back on hers, and he kisses her slowly, reverently, holding her like the precious gem that she is to him.

He grins as she melts into his arms, her lips soft as they move against his—this is one of the most passionate and intimate kisses they have shared in weeks (and yes, he is well aware he is the reason of that) and he cannot get enough of her. He deepens the kiss eagerly when she gasps, his hand tightening in her curls.

He angles her head a little and nibbles at her bottom lip, and he can feel Emma’s moan reverberating deep against his chest. She pouts when he breaks his lips from hers—Gods, she is trying to kill him, isn’t she?—to breathe, and he chuckles at her indignant expression.

He knows she wonders if he still doubts—if he doubts her resolve, her willingness to allow him to take her maidenhood—and he does, but he is well aware he should not voice these thoughts. She has already said she wants this, and he honestly does not want to question her.

Emma shakes her head and reaches up, her fingers trailing over his cheek, an electric current surging through his body as their skin touches, annihilating every rational thought in his mind. The only thing he wants—craves even—is her touch.

He needs to be as close to her as he possibly can be.

“This is you and me,” she whispers, “like it always has been. I want you, Killian. I love you. _Take me_.” Those words break his resolve. He’s wanted this for so long; there’s simply no way to decline now.

He needs her.

He aches for her.

Slowly, he lets his hand slide up her arm, eager to touch every inch of her silky skin, his eyes boring into hers, the heat between them reaching such heights, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the room caught on fire around them.

His hand reaches her soft, silky, beautiful hair, and he cannot resist waving his fingers in the golden locks, pulling her in, every single one of his fantasies over the last couple of months seemingly coming true in that one, defining moment.

Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he leans down, his hand cupping her cheek, his lips agonizingly close to hers, but not yet touching. He can feel their breaths mingling and shivers in anticipation—this is going to be even more mind-blowing than he had ever imagined.

Still intent on making their first time memorable, for the both of them, he brushes his lips past hers, nearly jumping at the intensity of the brief and fleeting contact. He leans back a bit, his breathing already heavier, studying her face for any signs of regret, even though he knows, deep down, that he will find none.

She bites her lip and swallows, before whispering, “Do you love me?”

He nearly growls at the question. “I—,” he replies, pulling her closer again, their eye contact so intense he thinks he might turn into a puddle of goo right there and then, “—love you more than life itself, darling.”

She smiles a little, and something glimmers in her eyes. “You do? Really?”

He feels a smile spread across his own lips and whispers, “I love you so much, it hurts me sometimes.” Her smile could’ve lit up the darkest night, and completely shatters every ounce of self-control he had left. He leans in and captures her lips with his.

It’s like nothing he has ever experienced before. Every single nerve in his body seems to be on high alert, and he’s all-too-aware of Emma’s sinfully delicious body pressed against his. His skin burns where it touches hers, and he’s immensely pleased as she responds to his kiss with equal burning passion. He’s never been kissed like this before—scratch that, he has never before felt something that could even compare to this.

Even their earlier kisses and passionate encounters fade in comparison to this one.

She wraps her arms around his neck as he slips his tongue into her mouth, tangling with hers, both wrestling for dominance. Her fingers twist in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, his hands leisurely wandering over her body.

He traces circles on the small of her back with one hand, the other tangled in the silky golden tresses of her hair.

Every time he moves his tongue against hers, she lets out a soft mewl of contentment that sends hot surges of lust straight to his groin. He never wants to stop kissing her—he wants to kiss every inch over her perfect body, worship her until she won’t be able to walk anymore, make her scream his name over and over again.

When he tilts his head slightly to the right, changing the angle to their kiss, she positively purrs, and his resolve to take this slow is thrown out of the window. He needs her completely, and he needs her now.

He lets his hand slide down, lingering at the soft swell of her breast to cup it slightly—she moans against his lips in response—before sliding down to the bottom of her corset, slowly loosening the laces, exposing inch by tantalizing inch of creamy skin.

Finally, after an agonizingly long period, he manages to get the bloody thing off, and tosses it onto the floor, reconnecting his lips with hers as soon as he can again. While they kiss, she fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, his coat and vest already laying forgotten on the floor, finally managing to undo all the buttons and pushing the shirt off his shoulders. She breaks the kiss slowly for breathing necessities, panting heavily against his lips.

He leans his forehead against hers and tries to slow his breathing too.

He runs his fingers up and down her side, satisfied with the goose bumps that form on her skin in response to his touch, and leans closer again, his lips inches from hers, her warm skin pressed against his. She lets a shaky laugh fall from her lips before he abruptly cuts her off with his lips, his hands diving into her hair again, pulling her body closer to his as they stumble back in the general direction of their bed.

They break apart for a short moment to breathe, and Killian feels the back of his legs bump against the edge of his bed. Slowly, his hands resting on Emma’s hips, he sits back on the bed, pulling her into his lap instantly, missing the connection between their bodies immediately. She grins cheekily at him and tilts her head down so their lips can once again meet in an equally teasing yet passionate kiss.

Her tongue presses softly against the seam of his lips, suddenly dominating the kiss. He will never admit it out loud, but a dominant Emma is an even bigger turn on than her sweet, innocent side.

So, resigning to her dominance, he winds his fingers in her hair and opens his mouth slightly, letting her tongue slip in and ravage his mouth. He shivers as her fingers graze over his nipple. Arousal slams through his body, and his heart is pounding so loudly, he is surprised she can’t hear it.

She breaks the kiss rather abruptly, moaning when he traces his lips down the column of her throat, sucking and biting down in the right places. She nearly growls as he sucks on a particularly sensitive piece of skin. He prays she won’t take immediate notice of his body’s reaction to her sexy as hell little growl.

“Emma,” he breathes against her neck, grazing his teeth on her skin. She moans again, tugging at his hair softly, bringing his lips up to meet hers again.

“Killian,” she breathes against his lips, and it takes him a split-second to gather his bearings after how goddamn sexy his name sounds falling from her lips. “I love you,” he mutters between kisses, letting her push him down onto the bed, her hands roaming his naked chest, “And I mean to have you tonight.”

She looks down on him, her eyes large and darkened with lust, biting her lip ever so sexily as she whispers, “Do you now?”

He feels a smile tugging at his lips and he traces her cheek with his finger sweetly. She leans into his touch, making the smile break through on his lips. She can see through every carefully built wall he built around himself to protect himself from heartbreak after Milah’s betrayal—it makes him feel vulnerable and strong at the same time.

“Oh, I do, my love,” he smirks, “I most certainly do.”

He meets her gaze dead-on and smiles at the love he sees in her eyes—he knows she’ll see it mirrored in his. “I’ve never been happier than I was the day you asked me to be your husband,” he whispers, suddenly fully aware of how true this is, leaning up to kiss her again, and flipping them so she is beneath him at the same time.

He crashes his lips on hers again, letting his hands explore her body as she takes the same liberties with his body. When he feels her nails digging into the skin of his chest, it shoots a bolt of boiling, searing lust straight to his groin, reminding him just how much he wants her.

How badly he wants to be one with her. How he never wants to let her go. He doesn’t just want to bed her—he wants to worship every inch of her perfect, extremely sexy body.

He breaks the kiss again, only to kiss his way down her neck, licking at her pulse point as he lets his fingers trace the lace of her underwear, stroking her softly through the flimsy material. She moans his name loudly, twisting her fingers in his hair, silently begging for more.

The thought alone makes him even harder than he already was, but he complies nonetheless as she bucks her hips against his hand, slipping his fingers inside of her underwear, gently touching her folds.

He growls against her sensitive skin when he feels just how wet she is. He curses softly, muttering her name over and over again, as if it is his own personal prayer.

“Please,” Emma pleads, “Killian, please…”

He breathes out shakily, but knows what she wants—what she needs. He slips one long finger into her tight channel and nearly comes on the spot when he feels how tight she is. Regardless, he moves his finger inside of her and presses his thumb against her clit softly, drawing soft circles, massaging her gently as she continues moan his name, over and over again.

In response he can only repeat her name—as if he’s stuck on repeat. He can no longer remember any other words than her name.

No words that actually matter anyway.

She tugs at his hair in aggravation—he’s moving too slow to make her come, and he loves every minute of driving her crazy with desire for him. He grins against her throat, pressing down a fleeting kiss before slipping another finger inside of her and increasing his speed ever so slightly. The sounds that escape her lips as he fingers her make him so hard and so hot, he is actually afraid of bursting into flames at any moment.

“Oh God, Killian,” she moans loudly when he adds a third finger and speeds up, pressing down on her clit a little harder. He leans up and presses his lips onto hers, feeling her release lingering just out of reach. He thrusts his tongue into her mouth, tangling it with hers, increasing his thrusting fingers. Her juices are now dripping onto his entire hand, making it all the easier for him to slip in and out of her tight hole.

He presses down on her clit and she explodes beneath him, riding his fingers as hard as she could, moaning into his mouth, digging her fingernails into his back. He helps her ride out her orgasm and smiles into the kiss as she relaxes beneath him. “Wow,” she breathes when he leans back to breathe, “That was—“

He smirks smugly. “Aye love, it was,” he whispers in reply, pressing his lips to hers in a sweet, soft kiss, his body still aching for her.

As she reaches for the hem of his pants, he reaches for the lacey underwear she is still wearing, tearing it off impatiently, to completely bare her to his eager eyes. She shakes her head with a slightly dazed smile on her lips, and he feels a sudden burst of male pride at her sated expression.

She uses his distraction to flip them again, pushing him into the mattress as she straddles him, her hot, wet heat pressing against him. She smirks impishly at him, sending another hot bolt of lust down to his groin—and he is done waiting.

He pushes her up slightly, so she’s kneeling over him, and in one, swift move, impales her on his length. Her walls are still fluttering from her orgasm and provide a delicious friction against his hard length.

“Damn, Killian!” Emma exclaims, her fingers digging into his chest almost painfully while a guttural groan fell from his own lips. With the wetness from her orgasm, he’s able to slide to the hilt in one thrust.

He pauses to allow Emma to adjust to his size and the abrupt penetration, and feels a pang of guilt at the tears in the corner of her eyes. “I’m sorry, darling,” he breathes, reaching up to wipe away a lone tear that rolls down her cheek.

“It’s okay,” Emma says breathily, wiggling experimentally, making his eyes roll back in his sockets, “It feels pretty good.”

“Then move, love,” he moans, rolling his hips up slightly, desperate for more friction. He is breathing heavily, but smiles when she plants her hands firmly on his chest and starts moving up and down on his length. She swivels her hips in a circle experimentally—Killian’s eyes roll back in his head at the delicious friction.

He leans up suddenly—Emma crying out at the sudden change of angle—and kisses his way down her neck onto her chest. He catches a nipple between his lips and uses his teeth to tug on it gently, flicking his tongue across the bud, moaning at the sweet flavor of her skin.

He loves how soft and pliant her body feels in his arms—and how determined and deliberately she moves, wringing every ounce of pleasure from him. She starts bouncing up and down faster, straining the muscles in her legs to keep up the fast rhythm.

Killian brings his hand to her hip, while trailing his hook up and down her spine, aiding her with her fast, delicious moves, thrusting up to meet her every move—she moans his name loudly; and merely the sound of his name falling from her lips in ecstasy nearly makes him come undone.

“Emma,” he moans in response, tightening his grip on her waist, their gazes locking as their movements slow, the pleasure so intense, it nearly hurts. The intimacy of their locked gaze isn’t lost on Killian, and it makes everything even more intense.

With the pad of his thumb, he rubs her clitoris to make her come as quickly as possible, as he realizes he won’t be able to hold himself together for much longer, and he refuses to come before she does.

Suddenly, Emma’s walls clench around him, pulling him into his own climax simultaneously, their identical moans and cries of completion bouncing off against the bedroom walls.

Emma’s body relaxes on top of his, her arms wrapping loosely around his neck, her fingers trailing through his messy hair idly—it would send shivers down his spine, but he is so spent and sated, he can barely keep his eyes open; he loves how she breathes in soft little puffs, how her muscles still contract and how she’s pressing her lips to his temple.

Gods, he can love this woman forever.

“Oh, my God,” she pants, her fingers tangling in his hair, “That was…” She stops and exhales in frustration, and he chuckles a little, trailing his fingers up and down her bare back softly. “I know,” he whispers, leaning up to press a soft, gentle kiss to her lips, “me too.”

When he moves to lie her down next to him, she whines and tightens her arms and legs around him, so he can’t move, even if he’d want to.

“Don’t move,” she pleads, “I like you right where you are.”

He complies and she rests her head on his chest again, soothed by the sound of his heart thudding steadily against his chest, beneath her ear.

“I love you, Emma,” he breathes, his eyes closing despite him trying to stay awake longer, to bask in the afterglow for a little bit longer. He doesn’t register her fingers running through his hair, nor her soft, blissful smile, or her whispered, “I love you too, Killian.”

.

.

.

**Eight Months Later  
Royal Castle of Sevenwaters**

“All hail King Killian and Queen Emma!”

No matter how long they’ve been King and Queen, Emma will never get used to the cries and cheering, the men and women vying for a mere moment of their attention, and she is well aware that it still makes Killian quite uncomfortable as well.

She eyes Killian nervously, reaching out to entwine their fingers together.  

He glances towards her and offers her a smile that makes her feel slightly better, though she is still uncomfortable in the open carriage, the sun beating down on their skin mercilessly. She grumbles a little, jumping when her husband slides closer to her, resting their joint hands on her swollen belly.

“Are you well, my love?” he inquires softly, rubbing her belly soothingly, “I know it has been a long journey.”

She smiles softly—he is so sweet.

The moment they had learned of her pregnancy, he become even more protective of her than he had been before—it _is_ slightly maddening at times. He had even attempted to protest against them taking this trip to Sevenwaters this late in her pregnancy, simply because he knows there is a possibility she may give birth before they make it back to the Enchanted Forest.

It is endearing, how he is so willing to postpone seeing his parents just so she can hold her mother’s hand when giving birth to their first child.

“I am perfectly fine,” she assures him softly as the carriage barrels up to the castle. “ _We_ are fine,” she adds, gladly accepting the tender kiss he places upon her lips before he pulls her closer. She sighs happily and settles in his arms.

Their past year has been tumultuous, a whirlwind of activity, romance and politics.

Save the month they had spent together on their honeymoon, they had been educated in all matters regarding the state and government of the Enchanted Forest. It hadn’t been all that new to Emma—after all, she had been groomed to take the throne her entire life—but matters were different in the Enchanted Forest than they were in Sevenwaters, and it took a while for Killian to catch up.

Now that he had, it was time for them to start preparing to take on the role as King and Queen of both Kingdoms. They had plans of making it one larger kingdom, to merge the laws and rules and choose—or build—a castle in a central part of the kingdom.

Both Killian and Emma wanted to build their own court up from the ground, and it was a good idea.

“Are you excited to see them again?” Emma rolls her head on his shoulder a little to look up at him—she is so lucky; her husband is one of the handsomest men in the realm.

“Of course,” Killian smiles, looking ahead at the castle, “They are my parents. We have not seen them since the wedding—and of course I am looking forward to meeting my brother’s betrothed…” Emma grins at the mischievous look on Killian’s face and shakes her head.

The news of Liam’s betrothal had reached them only days before their departure from her parents’ palace, and to say they had been stunned to hear Liam was getting marries was the understatement of the century—as much as Killian had been considered the eternal royal bachelor, his elder brother was far worse.

Liam had abdicated not only because of his love for the sea, but also to avoid marriage. To be unmarried as a crown prince was completely socially unacceptable—as a captain of the Royal Navy though, it was perfectly fine.

Needless to say, both she and Killian are looking forward to meeting the woman who had managed to capture Liam heart and attention.

She jumps when she’s abruptly broken from her musings by the loud braying of trumpets, welcoming them to the castle—she sighs and pouts.

She never got used to the whole fanfare that being royal brought. Nothing happened without several ceremonies—it’s completely ridiculous, but unavoidable, especially now that she and Killian are King and Queen.

It’s expected of them.

“You ready to face our loyal and very enthusiastic subjects, my love?” Killian smiles at her, and she knows he feels as she does.

“No,” she pouts, rubbing her swollen belly uncomfortably, before adjusting the tiara she is wearing—the one she is supposed to be wearing all the damn time now. “But we’ll have to,” she continues, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before looking around as their carriage slows to a stop in the courtyard.

She sighs as cheers greet them once again and paints a happy smile on her face to greet their subjects.

Here they go again.

.

.

.

Liam’s future wife is lovely.

She’s a little younger than Liam—closer to his age than to Liam’s—but she’s beautiful and lively, and she is as devoted to Liam as Killian is to Emma, and it is all he has ever wished for his brother.

Killian studies the woman as she speaks to his wife, blatantly ignoring his food—he is not hungry anyway. He is far too preoccupied with worrying about his wife (who seems to be rubbing her belly far more frequently than she usually does) and his brother (who is drooling at his betrothed instead of concentrating on the food and conversation around him).

His parents had been overjoyed to see them again, and his mother hasn’t stopped fussing over Emma since the moment they set foot in the palace. He’s not surprised—Snow had been much the same from the moment they had told her and David about the pregnancy.

“So, brother,” Liam finally tears his eyes away from the beautiful red-head to look at him, “I take it you and your Queen approve of the match?”

Killian rolls his eyes and nudges his older brother playfully. “Oh, I’m sure you were not waiting for my permission, brother.”

Liam chuckles and shakes his head. “I was not, but it _is_ nice to know our family likes her.”

Killian nods and sneaks another glance across the table at the two women, who are laughing and giggling together. “Emma seems to like her well enough,” he smiles, “and she is a very nice, bright woman—she’s a good match.”

Liam grins and opens his mouth when a guttural groan suddenly interrupts all conversation. Killian’s eyes immediately find his wife, who’s clutching at her stomach with a pained expression. His eyes widen and his stomach sinks—it is too early for their child to come.

He’s around the table and by her side in a split-second, his hand beside hers on her stomach immediately. "Love,” he chokes, “Emma, is it time?”

“No,” Emma whimpers painfully, “no, no—it’s too early, she’s not ready. She cannot be ready, Killian.” Her eyes are wide and teary and fearful, and he knows she is right, but they cannot stop it if their daughter—Emma is fully convinced the child will be a girl, and refuses to consider otherwise—wishes to be born right now.

She gasps again, and suddenly Killian realizes that his knees are wet—a small puddle is forming underneath Emma’s chair, and he chuckles nervously. “I think our child has just decided that she is, in fact, quite ready.”

After that, everything happens in a blur.

Emma is ushered to her chambers and all the midwives in the city are summoned to assist in the birth of the kingdom’s first heir. Killian is warded from the room, despite his protests and Emma pleas for him to be allowed in—it is against tradition for a man to be present in the room, which is the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard—and Liam has to hold him back forcibly while his mother goes in to hold Emma’s hand.

He struggles against his brother as he listens to Emma cry out for him, for her mother, listens to her begging him to make it stop hurting.

“Please,” he pleads with his brother, “Liam, I need to be there for her.”

“Brother, you know you can’t be in there,” Liam shakes his head, “I wish you could be, but—” Before Liam can finish his sentence, Killian pushes past him, ducking into the room. He barely skids to a stop at Emma’s side, catching her hand in both of his. “I’m here, my love,” he whispers, “I’m here. I love you—you can do this. Let’s meet our daughter.”

Emma stares at him before realization finally hits her and she bursts  into tears suddenly, catching everyone completely off guard. Killian exchanges a panicked glance with his brother—who flees the room as soon as he can, muttering something about tradition and blood—before curling his arms around her, pulling her closer and supporting her from behind.

“Shh, darling,” he whispers, “We’re fine, my darling. We’re fine.” Emma shakes her head and cries, “No! We’re not fine! She’s too early and my mother’s not here and our home isn’t completed yet and I’m not ready for this!” She wipes at her cheeks with an angry gesture, and he chuckles a little despite himself, stroking her swollen stomach gently, trying to get her to relax.

“Killian,” she moans, her head lolling back onto his shoulder, “We’re not ready,” she sniffles, “Nothing’s ready.”

“We will be fine, Emma,” he whispers in her ear, “We’ll work it out. We always do.”

She nods slowly, and he feels her relax for a moment… And then she arches back up, crying out as her muscles tense when another contraction hits her. “Oh my God, it hurts so bad!” She cries, squeezing his hand. “I know, love,” he breathes, rubbing circles on her stomach while murmuring sweet nothings in her ear.

She chokes and feels more tears roll down her cheeks as she tries to breathe through the next contraction. She swallows, leaning back against Killian as he presses a kiss to her temple. He is being so sweet, and she hates it—because it is all his fault that she is in so much pain right now, and she needs him to know it too.

“God, I hate you,” she sobs when the contraction wears off, squeezing his hand as hard as she can to punctuate and underline that statement. She feels him chuckle behind her as he mutters, “No you do not. You love me.”

“Not right now, I don’t,” she moans, rubbing her stomach. “What if she’s not okay? What if our baby’s not okay?” She curls into his chest and grips his shirt between her fingers, tugging on it lightly—she needs him to be close to her now, and to tell her it was going to be okay.

“She’ll be fine,” he breathes, “she’s ours, lass. The little lass will be fine, just to torment us during her teen years.” Emma lets a watery chuckle fall from her lips, nuzzling her nose against his bicep, pulling his arm around her as tightly as she could.

As soon as she does, she feels a—by now— _very_ familiar tightening, and she pants, trying to breathe through it, like the midwife had told her too. She crushes his fingers, and her own hand stings a little where she dug her nails into her own skin—this one seems to be worse and it seems to drag on too long. “Breathe, sweetheart,” Killian kisses her ear, “Breathe through it.”

“I am breathing,” she wails, swatting at his hand weakly as he wipes her forehead with a cold washcloth, “This is all your fault!” She relaxes into his chest as the contraction diminishes, panting raggedly.

She’s already feeling exhausted and she isn’t even done yet.

“Can you kill me now?” She begs in a small voice, “I don’t think I can do this anymore. I just want to die. It hurts so bad,” she whines, tugging on his sleeve.

“Don’t say that,” he growls in her ear, “Never say that again.”

She pouts at his harsh tone, snuggling into his arms. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, feeling far too emotional and weepy. “Don’t be mad at me.” She feels the tears start burning in her eyes again, and her lower lip starts trembling. Killian sighs against her and wraps his arms around her a little tighter, muttering, “I’m not mad at you, darling. I love you.”

“Okay,” she sniffles as one of the midwives coaches her through another minor contraction as she checks underneath the sheet.

“Okay, Your Highness,” the woman smiles, “Time to prepare for the birth. You are fully dilated.”

“You ready, lass?” Killian breathes, stroking her hair nervously as they watch the midwives move around the room frantically.  “I’m really scared,” she whispers, locking her eyes onto his blue ones, “What if the baby’s not ready?”

He licks his lips nervously and tries to smile at her. “She’ll be okay, lass. She has to be.”

The next contraction feels different, and though she recognizes the feeling from the birthing books she has read over the course of her pregnancy, she is afraid to actually bear down and push, because she knows what it is supposed to feel like and she isn’t sure she can do it.

Another contraction rips through her and she cries out, grabbing Killian’s hand again and squeezing it hard. “Okay, Emma,” the elderly midwife orders gently, “You can push on the next contraction.” She nods and swallows thickly, bearing down as hard as she can.

“Holy shit!” She screeches, tears springing in her eyes—she feels like she is being split in two.

Killian smiles bravely as she squeezes the life out of his fingers, whispering soft words of encouragement in her ear, whispering how much he loves her and how bloody brilliant she is while she fights through the contraction, trying to push and breathe through the pain.

When the contraction finally passes, she collapses back onto the bed, panting heavily. Killian strokes her sweaty, damp curls from her forehead and presses a kiss on her lips. “Almost done, love. You’re a marvel, Emma.” He leans up to look at his mother, who suddenly announces, “You are doing wonderful, Emma—we can see your baby’s head, sweetie. One more big push, Emma.”

“No,” she sobs, her body as limp as soft noodles, “I can’t anymore, I’m so tired. You can do it, right?” She rolls her head to the side to look at Killian and blinks tiredly. “I did the hard part, you can finish, okay?”

Killian chuckles a little and kisses her forehead. “I can’t pull her out, lass, you need to push one more time. Just one more and we can meet our little girl.” He kisses her, and she suddenly finds some residual strength inside of her, bearing down with every ounce of strength she has left, a near guttural scream falling from her lips as she feels the baby’s shoulders slip out, the lights in the room flickering ominously.

Her pelvis feels like it is shattering, and she feels like she was dying—and then, suddenly, the pain dulls, nearly disappears, and the room is utterly silent for a long moment, and Emma chokes, slapping Killian’s arm weakly. “She’s not crying. Why is she not crying?”

Right then, an angry little cry pierces the silence, and everyone in the room breathes out in relief as the younger blonde midwife smiles at them and holds out a squirming little bundle to Killian. “Here you go, Your Majesty. Here’s your daughter.” Emma chokes a little as she watches Killian take their daughter—she fits in his arms perfectly, and Emma can’t stop tears from rolling down her cheeks at how _perfect_ they look.

They are her happy ending.

The happy ending she had been dreaming of when she married Killian Jones.

“Hello little love,” Killian whispers, his eyes watery as he looks down at their daughter, “I’m your Papa. You’re just as beautiful and bloody brilliant as your mother, darling.” Emma smiles through her tears, because seeing her loving husband crying while holding their daughter is the sweetest thing she’d ever seen.

He smiles at her and leans down, handing her their daughter slowly, helping her support her head. “She’s so beautiful, Emma.” He kisses her hair, his finger trapped in their daughters little fist, while Emma occupies herself with taking in how their daughter looks and how beautiful she is; she has a head full of blonde hair already and an adorable button nose and thin, pink lips and—she gasps when the baby’s eyes flutter open—Killian’s stunning blue eyes and she is just _perfect_.

“Hello baby,” Emma chokes, her voice thick with emotion, “I’m your mother, and I love you so much, and I promise, your father and I are always going to be there for you, no matter what happens.” She feels Killian move next to her.

“I am so proud of you,” he whispers, his voice thick and laden with emotion, brushing his lips across her temple, “You did it, lass. You gave us a beautiful daughter.”

She chuckles and hugs their baby close, rocking back and forth a little. “We need a name,” she mutters, stroking their daughter’s pink, chubby cheeks. “We didn’t think of a name.” 

“Hope,” he says slowly, his eyes watery and filled with more emotion than she has ever seen before, “Hope is what made her come into existence—it is what led you to me when you were moments away from a forced marriage,” he explains.

She looks down at their baby with a soft smile, nodding slowly. “Princess Hope Jones. Yes,” she nods again and looks up at him with a wide grin. “I like it.”

“I love you, Emma,” Killian whispers as they gaze down at their newborn in awe—he cannot believe he and Emma created this beautiful little creature.

Emma smiles up at him, leaning in to press a kiss to his chin.


End file.
